A Hunter's Daughter
by jamiekid9
Summary: Lexie Winchester hasn't seen (or spoken to) her father in almost a year. She knows he's a hunter and she knows what he hunts. When an incident brings her father back into her life, she is forced to tackle her own inner demons while trying to adjust to life on the road. WARNING: SPANKING (IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, PLEASE DON'T READ. IT ISN'T FOR EVERYONE).
1. Waiting

I slouched lazily in the hard blue plastic chair, scuffing my well-worn sneakers back and forth against the grit of the office floor. The office was unusually silent, save for the soft clicking of the clock on the far wall and the nervous tapping of the young secretary seated behind the large desk just across from me. I wondered, briefly, if she was new. I'd never seen her before and I had been a visitor of this particular office many, _many_ times over the past few months. I shifted slightly in my seat – really it should have my name engraved on it somewhere – and wondered what happened to Mrs. Zimm, the elderly secretary who smelled of mothballs and peppermints. I liked her. This new secretary didn't like me one bit, I could tell by the way she would steal glances at me over the rim of her bright red glasses.

I glanced up at the clock and sighed heavily. I had been here for more than an hour now and, quite frankly, I was getting really tired of just sitting around. I jumped a little when the office door swung open to reveal Mr. Hill, my plump, balding, middle-aged principal. He looked tired as he led Sarah, who was holding an ice pack on her swollen eye, through the office with explicit instructions to go directly back to class. I made sure to glare at her as she walked past me, but if she noticed, she didn't let on. Mr. Hill frowned at me and turned to the young secretary.

"Any word on _this_ one?" he asked, nodding his head in my direction. My eyes narrowed.

The woman clicked her computer mouse and looked up from the screen. "Mr. Winchester should be arriving shortly," she said, casting a quick glance in my direction. I froze, certain that I heard her wrong.

Mr. Hill gave quick nod and turned to go back into his office.

"Wait!" I called out sharply, straightening a little in my seat and leaning forward so that my hands were resting on my knees. "Why is my –" I paused and slapped my leg in exasperation. "Why isn't my mom coming?"

The secretary, whose name I still didn't know, seemed uncomfortable with my sudden outburst. "I tried her number but there was no answer."

"So then you try her again!" I practically yelled, jumping up from my seat. "That other number is for emergencies only! Everyone knows that!"

"I'm sorry," the nervous woman said, glancing at Mr. Hill, her eyes imploring him for help. "I didn't know."

"No harm done," he reassured. "Perhaps we'll get somewhere this time."

I opened my mouth to shout a few choice words at the idiot of a secretary when the sharp snap of Mr. Hill's plump fingers stopped me in my tracks.

"Alexis –"

"Lexie," I interrupted.

He acted like he didn't hear me. "It would be in your best interest to take your seat –"

"But –" I interrupted, again.

"And to keep your words to yourself."

I snapped my mouth shut and glared at the man. He crossed his arms in front of his massive gut and stared me right back down. After a long, tense minute I sighed and flumped back down in the crappy plastic chair like a ragdoll. Mr. Hill stared at me for a moment longer and then spoke in his usual firm tone. "Let me know when Mr. Winchester arrives." I know he was talking to his secretary even though his eyes were on me. She nodded, too entranced to respond. With a heavy sigh, Mr. Hill uncrossed his arms and stalked back to his office, closing the door with a firm _click_ behind him.

I shot a quick glare at the women behind the desk, but she had already gone back to her work, seemingly forgetting that I was even there. I reached up and fiddled with the loose strands of hair that had long since fallen free from the lazy braid I had put in for phys ed. I sighed in frustration and stared up at the clock. Time practically crawled. Another hour passed and my stomach began twisting due, in part, to my missing lunch on account of the incident, and in part to the nervous anticipation that was eating away at me. They weren't supposed to call him. They weren't _ever_ supposed to call him. Hell, my mother didn't even call him when he was on a job, which was just fine by me. Ugh.

I knew he was there before I saw him. The air around me suddenly changed; it now held the faint aroma of motor oil, smoke (not cigarette – more like a woodstove), and cinnamon. My blood pumped hard; the pounding in my ears was deafening. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I hadn't seen or heard from him in almost a year. A lot had changed since then. _I_ had changed since then.

"Please, Mr. Winchester, have a seat; Mr. Hill will be with you momentarily."

I didn't see his reaction; I was too preoccupied with the hole I was slowly picking through my jeans. I didn't notice as he moved across the small space but I felt him brush up next to me as he took a seat in the empty chair to my left.

I didn't acknowledge him, although I could sense that he was watching me. It made me nervous and slightly uncomfortable.

"Mr. Winchester?" the secretary's soft voice called. I felt him shift a little next to me. "Mr. Hill will see you now."

I felt movement beside me and stole a quick glance as he walked past me but it wasn't until Mr. Hill had closed his office door behind them that I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding.


	2. Is Anybody Home?

We didn't speak at all during the short walk from the main office to the visitor's parking lot. I trudged miserably behind him, having to jog a little to keep up with his quick, angry steps. When we got to the car, he held the back door open for me and I climbed in wordlessly.

"Hi, Sam," I practically whispered, my voice cracking a bit. The tall figure in the front seat turned around slightly and offered me a sad smile.

"Lex."

I looked up at him. He had changed quite a bit over the last year; he looked a little older – a little more tired – and his hair was longer.

I opened my mouth to speak, but was cut short when the driver's side door opened. My eyes darted to my lap and I quickly fastened my seatbelt, not wanting to get into that particular argument right now. I started picking nervously at the hole in my jeans again.

"How'd it go?" Sam asked. I glanced up but quickly looked back down when I realized that he wasn't talking to me.

"That principal is a douche bag."

Sam smirked and the two fell silent as we began driving.

We had only been on the road for about five minutes or so when he finally spoke to me.

"Okay, out with it."

His voice startled me. I jumped a little and looked up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

"O-out with what?" I stammered, caught off-guard.

"Let's start with what the hell's been going on with you, Alexis," he said, slamming one hand down on the steering wheel, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"I don't know what you mean," I said, looking back down and picking at the frayed edges that ran along the hole in my jeans. It was really time for new ones.

"Little girl, you have exactly three seconds left before I pull this car over, you got me?"

I knew that tone all too well. I hadn't heard it in a long time but the meaning behind it was still crystal freaking clear. I nodded, unable to trust myself to speak.

"One," he counted.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm myself. I really didn't know where to start. Everything was just _so_ messed up.

"Two," he added, with more heat in his voice than before. I knew what happened at three and I _so_ did not want to get to three. Ever.

I felt the car slow down.

"No, wait!" I cried.

His eyes met mine once again in the rearview mirror.

"I'm waiting."

I took another deep breath. "I don't _know_ what's going on with me."

"Uh huh." I felt the car slow again.

"I don't, Daddy, honest!" There it was, that word that I promised myself I would never say again. My own mouth betrayed me. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

He pulled over to the side of the road and put the car into park before turning around in his seat, giving me his undivided attention.

"You know what I see?" he asked, not bothering to wait for an answer. "I see a little girl who is _dying_ for some attention and who doesn't care what she does or who she hurts as long as she can get away with it." I opened my mouth to protest, but he just held his hand up to silence me. "Tell me I'm wrong."

I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but I knew that would be a lie. I could never lie to my dad. He always seemed to know. He once told me it was a gift that he inherited from his own father.

"My question is, whose attention were you trying to get?"

I glanced up at him and shrugged. I really didn't know the answer to that.

"Well, sweetheart, you wanted attention, and now you've got it in spades." he answered tersely, turning back around and starting the car again.

I don't know why but I started to get angry – angry with my dad, with myself, and with my mother for not answering the damn phone.

I had worked myself into quite the temper by the time we pulled onto my street. I looked up and glanced out the windshield as my house grew in the near distance. What I saw there made my blood boil. My mother's car, that same ugly lime green beetle, was parked in the driveway. She was home. She was home and she didn't answer the phone. If she had _just_ answered the phone, I wouldn't be dealing with an angry Winchester. Hell, I probably wouldn't be dealing with an angry _anybody_. It wasn't fair!

The car barely stopped when I went barreling out of it and towards the house.

"Mom!" I yelled as I pushed through the already opened front door, slamming it against the wall. "Mom!"

"Lexie!" I heard both Sam and my dad yell at the same time, the warning in their voices clear as they came running up behind me.

I was too preoccupied in my anger to notice that something wasn't right. The door slammed behind me and I slammed into it. The force knocked the wind out of me and for a brief moment, my vision went black. My heart pounded in my chest, echoed by the pounding on the door behind me.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the littlest Winchester."

I knew that voice. My eyes cleared and focused on the woman standing mere feet in front of me. I tried to move my arms, but I was effectively pinned against the door as if by some invisible force.

I squinted. "Mom?"

"I'm sorry, she's currently unavailable, can I take a message?"

"Mom!"

"Oh, Lexie. Lexie, Lexie, Lexie. What am I going to do with you?" she asked, resting her head on the door next to mine. Her hand gently caressed my face. "Such a lovely face."

"Let me go!" I demanded, struggling against the invisible bonds that held me.

"And here I thought we could have a civilized conversation, sad." She made a pouty face at me, which would have been comical if I wasn't pinned against the door. She started to walk away, running her fingers playfully along the wall as she walked.

"What do you want?" I cried. She turned and smiled at me.

"Ahh, I'm so glad you asked. You see, I need a favour from your dear daddy and he's been, well, very non-compliant." She moved closer to me, until she was mere inches from my face. "How convenient that he led me right to you."

"Go to hell," I spat.

"_Tsk, tsk_," she chided before backhanding me across the face. My ears sang and tears spiked once again in the corners of my eyes. My mother had _never_ hit me before; hell, she had never even spanked me. I knew that this thing – this _person_ – was not my mother; I had learned enough about possession from listening in on my parents' phone calls over the years, but it still hurt. My cheek felt warm and damp. The woman – I refused to acknowledge her as my mother – pressed her finger into my cheek. I winced; it stung terribly. She brought her hand to her mouth and licked my blood from her finger. "Mmmm, most _definitely_ a Winchester," she said, her eyes dancing in merriment.

I struggled some more and then did the only thing I could think of to do. I screamed.

The woman held her hand out to me and I began to gasp for air. I heard glass break and then there was darkness.


	3. Grief

When I woke up everything was hazy and _everything _hurt. I tried to open my eyes but even the slightest flutter of my eyelids caused an angry line of pain that ran the entire length of my jaw. I winced. Warm tears filled my eyes and I blinked – very gently – to let them fall. Slowly, everything came into focus: the dull yellow walls, the familiar shadow created by the bedside lamp, the window to my left overlooking the giant elm tree. I was in my room.

But how did I get here?

I took a deep breath and focused on the long, thin crack that ran from the ceiling above my bed and down the wall. Ugh, I hated these walls. They'd been that same sunshine–ugly colour since before I was born. I should have painted them a long time ago.

An angry shout from just outside of my bedroom door made me jump. The voices were muffled but the tone was obviously heated. I sat up carefully, mindful of the pain in my left shoulder and moved, slowly, to the side of the bed. I stopped and listened. It was quiet for a while but then there was more shouting. Slowly, and on very shaky legs, I stood and practically wobbled to the door. I leaned in, careful not to rest my swollen cheek against the door.

"– a reason I stayed away from here!" I heard my dad yell.

"I know that, Dean."

"Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? To not know what the hell was going on here? To not know if they were safe or even _alive_? It was hell, Sam, and then to get that call from the school –" His voice drifted out and I found it hard to hear him. I moved my ear closer to the door but it was quiet. I held my breath and waited, impatiently, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

They were silent for a long time. I wasn't even sure they were still there. My head hurt. I turned to go back to bed when my dad spoke again.

"How am I supposed to tell that ten year old little girl that her mother is dead?"

I froze, too stunned to move. My ears _whooshed_. I could hear my heartbeat. Everything went numb; everything felt wrong. I opened my mouth and screamed.

The bedroom door flew open and Sam and my dad rushed to my side, their faces etched in panic. I kept screaming. It filled me; it consumed me.

My dad took hold of my shoulders and spoke to me but I couldn't hear him. He shook my shoulders firmly. I stopped screaming and looked at him. He looked tired. I raised my arms, broke free from his grasp, and ran. I ran across the hall to my mom's room but nothing was different. It was supposed to be different, wasn't it? I ran to the bathroom at the end of the hall. The light was out and it was empty. I pushed past Sam and took the steps, two at a time, to the main floor. It was silent – still. I ran through the living room, the kitchen, and finally to the front entrance. I remembered everything. I remembered the fight we had gotten into that morning, just before school started. I called her a bitch and told her to stay out of my life before I slammed the front door. I remembered the mood I was in at school and the fight. I remembered the stupid secretary with her red–rimmed glasses and my dad coming to pick me up from school. I remembered being pinned against the front door.

I reached out and touched the dent in the door. I didn't remember a dent being there before; maybe it happened when I was thrown back. I sunk to my knees and began sobbing – deep, gut-wrenching sobs.

I didn't hear anyone approach. I was too consumed in my own grief to notice that I was no longer alone. A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around me and instinctively I turned into them, allowing my tears to soak the hard shoulder beneath my head. I felt safe.

My dad leaned against the doorframe, keeping his arm around me while he shifted his position. His hand ran up and down my back but I couldn't get control of myself. I felt so lost and scared. I felt guilty.

"Da –" I started, unable to speak over my hitched breath.

"Shhh, baby," he whispered, pulling me closer to him.

"Bu–ut, she's, she's –"

He held me tighter but didn't speak. I don't know why, but I started to get angry.

"This is your fault!" I yelled, shoving him as hard as I could and scooting back on my heels and my bum. He didn't resist me. He just cocked his head to the side and regarded me, carefully. "If you hadn't come here, _she_ would still be alive!"

"Lex," Sam warned from somewhere behind me, but my dad held up one hand and shook his head at him.

"You wanna blame me?" he asked quietly, his voice eerily calm and level. "That's fine, little girl. Blame me. But it doesn't change the fact that something very evil killed your mother today. I _wish_ I could bring her back to you, I do, but I can't."

I narrowed my eyes; pain shot down the left side of my face. I needed to be angry with somebody even though deep down I knew that they only reason he was here was because of me and that stupid fight. That didn't lessen my anger though. If I had a_ normal_ dad, you know, one that didn't fight supernatural creatures for a living, none of this would have happened. A demon wouldn't have possessed my mother. We'd be just fine, living our lives.

"Fuck you, Dean!" I yelled at him, surprising even myself. My dad stared at me, momentarily speechless, and then his eyes narrowed. My stomach dropped. He opened his mouth and spoke in the same leveled tone, although I could tell he was struggling with it this time.

"You can be pissed at me all you want. If it helps you cope, so be it, but if you ever, and I mean _ever_ speak to me like that again, you're going to be one _very_ sorry little girl, we clear?"

I burst into tears. What the hell was wrong with me?

I scooted back a little and bumped up against Sam's legs. Instinctively I turned into them. He crouched down and wrapped a strong arm around me. I blinked the tears from my eyes and practically dove into Sam's arms. He held me for a long time and then picked me up and carried me back upstairs to my room. He shifted my weight, moving me to his right hip while he pulled the blanket back. I wanted to tell him that I wasn't a baby and that I didn't need to be carried like one, or worse, tucked in like one, but I didn't have the energy left in me to refuse. Instead, I rested my heavy head on his shoulder and sobbed.

Sam gave me a tight one–armed squeeze and put me down on my bed. He took off my shoes, dropping them in a steady rhythm of _thud_s on the floor, and tucked my comforter around me (a bright red one that my mother hated). My face felt hard and full. Sam handed me a box of tissues from my desk and I gratefully accepted them, emptying the entire box with the contents of my nose. I'm such an ugly crier. I stuffed the wadded up tissues back into the opening of the box and handed it to Sam. He motioned for me to lie down, tucked me in one last time, and left the room, closing the door three quarters of the way behind him.

I was emotionally exhausted and my nose was still stuffed up. I rolled over and fell asleep immediately.


	4. The Talk

I woke up, groggy and disoriented. The sun shone brightly through the open window to my left, forcing me to turn my head and shield my eyes away from its offending brightness. I stretched my stiff limbs, slowly and gently, and moved my head carefully from side to side. My face was still very tender but the pain wasn't nearly as sharp as it was the day before.

"It's about time you got up," came a deep, gruff voice to my right. I turned my head, mindful of my still swollen face, and looked at my dad guardedly.

He was flipping through my journal, a deep red leather bound book that my mother had bought me for Christmas one year. She thought it would make a great diary; she said that every little girl needed a safe place to store her secrets. I had other uses for it.

"You have a lot of information in here," he commented, still not bothering to meet my eyes. He frowned a bit when he said it, still flipping through the pages. "More information than you _should_ have." He closed the book sharply with one hand and pointed it at me. "Care to explain this?"

I shrugged and turned my face away from him, focusing instead on the long crack in my ceiling. "Not really," I whispered.

"Let's try this again," he said, his gruff voice level and even, "_explain_ this."

I took a deep breath and sat up carefully, stretching my stiff limbs as I moved. "I researched some of it," I offered, swinging my legs over the side of the bed so that I sat facing him.

"Uh huh, and the rest?"

I shrugged again, a habit that I knew annoyed him.

"Alexis." he warned.

My eyes darted to my lap and then to the floor. I was only wearing one sock; I wondered, briefly, where the other one went. I heard my dad clear his throat. I glanced up at him.

"I might have listened in on your phone calls to mom?" I offered in the form of a question.

"You _might_ have?" he prompted. I shrugged. He ran his hand over his face and gently tossed the journal onto the bed next to me. I looked at it, but left it where it was.

"I guess I don't need to explain what happened yesterday then, huh?"

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

The air around us was quiet for a long time – quiet and tense. I couldn't look him in the eye. Instead, my eyes flitted nervously around the room, not really focusing on anything in particular.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked finally, his tone gentler than before. I looked back up at him and shook my head, feeling fresh tears well up in my eyes. The pain of it all was still too close. I wasn't ready to accept it. I wasn't ready to move on.

My dad nodded and then his face turned hard.

"Then let's talk about your behaviour."

I shook my head and opened my mouth to defend myself, but he put a hand up to stop me.

"Lying _really_ isn't in your best interest right now." I shut my mouth and watched as he stood up and began pacing the room. "Getting into fights, damaging property, swearing, being disrespectful," he checked each transgression off on his fingers, "what the hell has gotten into you?"

I shrugged and looked back down at my sockless foot that was swinging back and forth nervously. In that moment, I felt very, _very_ small.

"We've _talked_ about being disrespectful, Alexis." Ugh, I hated it when he used my full name. "In fact, we had a very lengthy conversation about this when I last saw you."

"Yeah, like a _million _years ago." I mumbled under my breath.

"What was that?" he asked sharply.

I shook my head. "Nothing." I whispered sheepishly.

"What did I say would happen if you continued to be disrespectful?"

I shrugged, not because I didn't remember, but because I _really _did not want to answer him.

"Alexis."

There it was again.

"It's Lexie!" I snapped, standing up angrily. He raised an eyebrow at me and looked pointedly back to the bed. I sat down.

"What did I say?" he asked again, grounding out every word slowly and deliberately.

I groaned and jiggled my leg up and down a little. "Daddddd!" I whined.

He just stared at me, arms crossed over his broad chest. I knew that look well. It meant that his patience was just about done. I looked down at my lap.

"You said I'd get," I balled the comforter into my hands, "you know." I whispered, barely audible. I knew he heard me though.

"That you'd get what?" he prompted. Ugh! Why couldn't he just leave me alone?

Traitorous tears began to well up in my eyes. "A sp–panking," I whispered, my face flushing in embarrassment. My mom _never_ spanked me. Sure, she threatened to every once in a while, but she never followed through. It just wasn't her style. My dad, however, was a completely different story. He _always_ followed through.

"Alexis –"

I didn't let him finish. I wasn't in the mood for a lecture and I most certainly wasn't in the mood for a spanking! "My name is LEXIE!" I yelled at him, jumping to my feet again. I picked up the nearest thing I could find, a small porcelain music box, and threw it at him, or rather, in his direction. He ducked and it smashed against the wall behind him, shattering into a million little pieces. I was stunned.

My dad took two long steps towards me, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me over his lap as he sat down on the bed. His heavy hand immediately started falling over and over again, making quick work of warming my butt.

"Ow –" I cried, squirming to avoid his powerful hand.

He didn't let up. In fact, the swats got harder and harder.

I squirmed some more, but it didn't help me at all. My dad was way stronger than I was. Eventually he did stop, but only long enough to lift me up and unsnap my jeans.

"What? No, please!" I cried, sounding much younger than I was, while trying desperately to keep my jeans up. He pushed my hands away and when I went to grab my jeans again, he smacked my hands. He tugged my jeans down and flipped me back over his lap, spanking me once again. It hurt much more without the protection of my jeans.

I stomped my feet against the floor. My tears fell freely down my face, landing in wet splotches on the rug.

After what felt like forever, he stopped, but he didn't let me up. Instead, he rested his hand on the small of my back. "Are you done with your tantrum?" he asked.

I nodded furiously, which felt awkward in my current position.

"Your behaviour is going to change, and it's going to change now." he lectured. He wasn't angry but his voice was firm. He lifted his hand and smacked my butt again – hard. "You _will not_ get into fights." His hand fell again. "You _will not_ throw things at me or anyone else." He landed two more sharp smacks on my already smarting bottom. "You _will_ watch your language and your tone." Another smack. "And you _will_ be respectful at all times, are we clear?" I nodded again, despite my tears.

"Good." he answered firmly, tugging my panties down to join my jeans that were now pooled around my ankles. I wanted to yell out but was stopped short by a barrage of sharp swats to my already very hot behind. I was pretty sure that I would never be able to sit again. I don't know how long I was over his knee for, or how many spanks I got – I never _was_ good at keeping count – but I _can_ tell you that I was very, _very_ sorry when he was done.

He pulled my panties up over my scorching behind and helped me right myself, keeping his hand clasped around my arm until he was sure that I was stable on my feet. I looked at him with pathetic, wounded, teary eyes. I could only make out the blurry shape of him through my tears. He sighed and pulled me up onto his lap. I didn't fight it. I just rested my head on his shoulder and sobbed.

"You've been needing that for a long time, little girl." he said to me. I didn't say anything. He just held me close until I calmed down.

When my sobbing subsided, he pulled me up a little so that our eyes met.

"I don't want to _ever_ talk to you about disrespect again, are we clear?"

I nodded.

"I want a verbal response, Lex."

"Yes." My voice cracked a bit.

"Good," he answered simply, "because I won't be so lenient next time." My eyes went wide and I silently promised myself that there would _not_ be a next time. "Come on," he said, "Sam's making you something to eat. We're heading out soon."

"I'm really not hungry," I whispered, slightly embarrassed when I realized that Sam had probably heard everything. The walls in this house were very thin.

"It's not negotiable." he answered simply, pulling me up to stand with him. "Get yourself cleaned up. I expect you downstairs in fifteen minutes."


End file.
